


It Happened One Knight

by Klawdee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempt at Humor, Draco in Distress, Draco's fits of passion, F/M, Gen, James Potter Lives, Magical vow of chastity, Minor Injuries, Romantic Comedy, is it apparate or disapparate?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27058588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klawdee/pseuds/Klawdee
Summary: “A spoiled heir running away from his family is helped by an old classmate, who is actually a journalist in need of a story.”Based off of the 1934 film, It Happened One Night
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/ Astoria Greengrass, Hermione Granger/ Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Malfoy, Oscar Shapley/his hand
Comments: 13
Kudos: 17
Collections: Dramione RomCom Fest





	1. "The colder they are, the hotter they get"

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [DramioneRomComFest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DramioneRomComFest) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> It Happened One Night (1934) - claimed by Klawdee
> 
> disclaimer: I own nothing but the dark circles from little sleep and the punctuation shaker that spilt out- oops.
> 
> Some quotes/dialogue pulled or paraphrased (especially the wittier quick beat ones) directly from the B&W film. 
> 
> Canon-divergence 
> 
> Also— bare with me still learning ao3 settings.  
> Thank you for reading💕

a Dramione RomCom Fest piece

** It Happened One Knight **

_“_ _A normal human being couldn't live under the same roof with her without going nutty!_ _She's my idea of nothing!_ _ **—** _ **Peter Warne;It Happened One Night (1934)**

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

** “The colder they are, the hotter they get” **

“And do you know what the little beetle had the audacity to say me? That I have not the talent to sniff out a newspaper story. Even if. Even if it reached up and kicked me in my “masculine” mug-, my, my trousers.” Clearing her throat and taking another swig of ale, “me? not the talent? For news?! As- as if,” clicking her tongue and taking a sip, “as if that filthy scandal sheet publishes actual news. At least my works are not dramatized delusions. Cause I do my research. I do THE research. Color coordinated even. It’s often just tossed aside, like rubbish. Hmpf,” taking a longer draft of her ale, “I. I could do puff pieces, you know,” she gestures to the amused barkeep and to the patron neighboring her barstool, “you know? I could. I just- I just choose not to. I- “

“Oy, girlie give it a rest,” exclaiming her neighbor after draining his mug.

Placing his arm behind the back of her stool with a smarmy smile, “I can tell you’ve had a trying day and while, Shapely loves meeting a high-class mama that can snap 'em back atcha,” snaping his fingers and then playing with the ends of her curls, creeping his hand to her shoulder, “I know what ya need. And there’s nothing I like better than-”

Hermione never found out what he liked better, since she interrupts his nauseating attempt by forcefully removing his fingers, one by one. Each with a satisfying snap. Much to the barkeeps humor, though he would deny it later, and to the dismay of ole Shapely, as that is his preferred hand.

* * *

“This is bollocks. I’m over 21 and so is she!” his glass of fire-whiskey sloshing about with every gesture. “Neither of us have a bloody marriage contract. And aside from the practically non-starter issue, Astoria bloody fits perfectly- of what you and mother have expected. Of me. For me. For a fucking-Malfoy bride. Damn it all, I’m ready to marry!”

“I would be careful, Draco, if I were in your position. In which way you continue to address me.”

“Careful?” throwing back the last of his drink and dropping his glass, “is that your strategy? Poor attempts at a subtle threat? My, _father,_ you are losing your touch.”

Lucius eyes flash dangerously over the shattered pieces of crystal, “hardly a strategy,” drawing up taller and strolling back to his desk, “your understanding of subtlety of late, has left something to be desired.” Removing a carefully wrapped tome from his desk, “however, if you proceed to speak-”

Scoffing, “I’ll- I’ll speak however I choose. I’ll shout if I want, I’ll-” carelessly flourish his wand his speech mounting in volume with every word.

With two quick silent spells, Lucius places Draco’s disarmed wand into a drawer.

Falsely cooing, “now, now Draco. You are behaving like a child. I have been more than patient, allowing your unbecoming drunken tangent. Tsk-” clicking his tongue at the interruption of a small supper cart, and other tea accoutrements, “your mother continues to spoil you. Have some vittles,” waving over the elf magicked cart towards his surly son. “She must know you’re in a rather… ill-mannered way. Now, discuss nicely,” he cancels the silencing charm as he sits back tapping at the still wrapped tome, “or we will have to use another way, of persuasion.”

Arms crossed and seething, Draco glares into the still locked floo, willing it to open.

“Come, have a spot of tea, sober up and- ah now, why must you behave so stubbornly?” Lucius nostrils flair at the undignified behavior of his heir, having flipped over the cart, like some common muggle.

“I come from a long line of stubborn idiots!” And with a childlike wave of anger, a rather impressive feat of magic; he forcibly apparates. Shaking and tearing through the Manor’s wards, leaving behind his wand and a boot.

“Oh, dear, ‘Cissy will be most displeased.”

* * *

Leaving the muggle pub after her minor altercation, she stumbles in search of an empty alleyway, or phone booth. Walking past another snogging couple longingly, she wonders how she found herself here. An overworked and underpaid copywriter for, The Daily Prophet; four years out of Hogwarts and still under that blasted Rita Skeeter. She had meant to start in the Ministry. Magical Law, the legislative side, the Department for Magical Beings, or even a records clerk, would have been preferred. But with no real clout, besides her outstanding NEWTs and being Head Girl, she did not have an in. Not at the level of influence she wanted for her five-year plan. She hadn’t want to stay on the auror track with Harry and Ronald, but had attempted it all the same. She had scored highly on the written portion, with a “well done for a girl and muggle-born,” shtick. With that she had a dawning realization that perhaps the Ministry alone may not further her agenda. She soon changed tactics, believing that employment with the only news source, for their insular community, would be most conducive to her goal.

Hermione only needed to persuade that beetle Skeeter into giving her, her due. Her very own column, to start. All she needed, was to get in one article, so she may begin to evoke some change. She just needed one piece, one to at least satisfy the pest, or she would have to resign and recalculate.

Or trap Skeeter in a jar until she gave in, as she so often fantasized.

Coming back to herself, she checks over her shoulder before attempting to apparate home, tripping over an ill placed pile of newspapers.

She lands with an, “oof! Oh, I beg your pardon!” 

“Next time you drop in bring your folks,” he says with a snort of derision.

“Oh, but I really am sorry about -oh er, Malfoy?!” looking down at a familiar sneering, pointed face. “What? How? Why are you -”

“I don’t know who you mean,” tossing an empty bottle into an open bin of rubbish.

“Are you not Dray— co…?” questions Hermione tentatively.

The flashing of his grey eyes and tensing of shoulders provides her with a bit more confidence in her identification, “what are you doing here, Malfoy?” she asks with sobering bewilderment. 

Running his hand through his white-blond hair, “why are you here? Forget it. I’d rather you not ask nor answer. Better yet, forget you’d even seen me. Oh, jeez,” he groans at seeing the change of her posture, “anything but the famed Granger inquisition. I’d rather take on another hippogriff.”

Opening her mouth and quickly shutting it, “I-I didn’t… A hippo— I’m not—” closing her mouth again and looking up, how he had her feeling even smaller, she could not say. Throwing a thumb over her shoulder, “I’ll just—" scoffing and rubbing her hands down her trousers, “fine I’ll just continue on then.”

“You do that,” thumping his head against the brick wall, eyes closed, a sense of false ease about him.

Turning about to move past him focusing on her destination. The taunting image of garish horned glasses, framed by overdone corkscrew curls, and a pinched expression saying _, “you have not the talent_ ,” pulls to the forefront of her mind.

She was a Gryffindor, damn it.

Head Girl; top of her year.

And a journalist.

With determination, Hermione spins around on her heel, surveying her old classmate.

Who happens to still be sitting on the pavement.

In an alleyway.

In muggle London.

Looking him over she notes, that despite the current and uncharacteristically disheveled state, he is of course dressed in the finest fabrics. Perhaps her scrutiny causes it, as he didn’t seem to have bothered before. He begins... primping. Fanning his torn button up and soiled robes from debris. Shaking her head, she looks sideways, noticing a missing dragon hide boot. No sock either. Elsewise, he seems to be uninjured.

Her eyes scale up to meet his scowling face because of her unabashed appraisal, “weren’t you leaving.”

“Well, not till you stand,” crossing her arms chin up.

He sits a moment longer, nose flaring before he tries standing.

Plopping right back down with a groan.

Hermione starts, as to help, but quickly spots his expression, pulling back. Her hands up.

He tries again, scooting up the wall his robe hindering him.

“You know, if you ask nicely- I may be willing to give you a hand up,” she baits.

Still scowling, He starts to remove his robe, his split shirt gapping, revealing the cross markings of Harry’s old spell work. Hermione’s face flushing lightly as she sees one of the largest scars crossing over his darkened blond trail of… “Perhaps you're interested in how a wizard disrobes,” he snarks, bundling his robe as he successfully stands against the bricked wall. A supercilious sneer pulls at his lips, “As you see, I don’t need your assistance. You should leave now.”

“Oh, right,” clearing her throat at her high tone. “Well, if you’re not in need of _my assistance, I-_ ” she makes to go when she spots the slight swelling on his bare foot. And part of her recognizes she should not leave anyone; magical, muggle, or pompous prat, injured and alone. Yet another part, the part who contemplates jarring her Animagus boss… shaking the thought away, she turns to him again, “I understand, that I am among the last persons, of which you wouldn’t want to see you... in this state—"

Draco crinkles his nose at the word _help_ , “ _among_ the—”

“ _BUT_ I can help,” stressing the word, “I’m assuming along with your missing boot, perhaps you’re also missing your wand? I can help you to St. Mungos, summon the aurors or get you hom—" 

“No aurors!” cringing at his own outburst and clearing his throat. “No Mungos, no aurors, and yeah no....” trailing off. He inhales deeply and smirking a little, “although, you could make yourself useful by summoning the Knight bus, yeah,” thumbing his nose and attempting to step away from the wall with a wince.

“Make myself… useful? Why I— Are you— Ugh! Never mind,” throwing her hands up whipping about to face the alley entrance. Turning back again, startling Draco and risking whiplash, “I had planned on being as civil as I could. I’ve already broken one prats hand tonight. Don’t make me take a sock at your nose, too.”

“Oh, yeah?” narrowing his eyes at her.

“Yeah.”

Giving Hermione a slow once over, “yeah. You would, too,” biting his lip with a small escaped laugh. Looking away and back at Hermione, “did you know, I rather like my nose. Some would describe it as… aristocratic. Regal even. And if I recall correctly. I think you’ve already done, what was that? Take a sock at it. Without apology, too.”

“Oh- I. Well…” scoffing, “it’s not like you didn’t deserve it then! I mean somebody ought to have done it,” face reddening at the sound of Draco's snort and fuller laugh, she begins backing away again.

“Oi, Granger, wait,” grinding his teeth, having stepped a little further from the wall. His hand splayed against the brick supporting himself, “lend us a shoulder to the curb will you.”

Looking from the alleys entrance and down to his injured ankle, “oh! Right. Just. Wait, let me, its your right foot, yes? Okay. Try—”

It takes them a moment to synchronize their steps, Draco having to stoop lower, his arm slung about her shoulders. Passing strewn newspapers, the ones Hermione had accidently scattered, their steps become a bit unsteady, “been indulging tonight, Granger? You don’t look like you’ve been on a date." Inhaling, "is that Gardenia? Oof, watch it. I don’t want to my foot on the ground more than it has to be. You know, you’re kind of little aren’t you? You seemed. I don’t know, larger. But you’re actually kind of little. Must be all that— hair,” he blows a frizzing curl or two, out of his face, “a veritable lions mane.”

“Only. Oops—” nearly falling over from their inebriated three-legged stroll, “got it. I got it. You need to walk straighter. And—only male lions have manes.”

“A figure of speech, Granger. And I am walking as straight as I can. My vision is slightly imp– impede. Impediment. My vision is blocked,” puffing at her curls again.

“Don’t mess with the hair. It’s how my old friend Shapely almost lost his fingers. Now, there- grab the lamp post and I’ll summon the bus."

Carefully removing her wand, looking about for muggles, she places her wand arm out, and the Knight bus appears.

* * *

TBC


	2. "Believe you me"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for any grammatical, syntax, or typing errors- I spent all my time in english staring at my crush's hands.  
> They were mighty fine hands.

_"Aw, nuts! You’re just like your old man!_

_Once a plumber’s daughter, always a plumber’s daughter!_

_There isnt’t an ounce of brains in your whole family!”_

**-Peter Warne; It Happened One knight (1934)**

** Chapter Two **

_“Believe you me"_

“…I’ll be your conductor for this evening. Aye love birds are ya? Now you’ll have to mind the other occupants,” Stan Shunpike laughs.

At the sudden appearance of the Knight bus, Draco practically dives from the lamp post to Hermione’s side.

Pressing and hiding his face against her neck. No care for his still bare & injured foot, almost knocking them over.

“Now what ‘er your ticket choices be. We have the— er what was that mate?” he asks at the mumbling sound coming from underneath Hermione’s hair.

“oh uh—” Her voice squeaks, face flushing and a small, uncharacteristic giggle escapes, “he uh said the uh—” swallowing dryly, “he said that uh. That yes. That the one with Hot Chocolate,” her voice going up at the end. “And the uh, the, what? Oh, the well, the basic should work just fine for me. Yes.”

Tilting his head, a remark just at the tip of his tongue, when he is startled by a loud roaring sound from inside, “bugger. That’s ole Mrs. Batey, lemme see what she needs, the ticket picks are here. And the Chocolate is ‘quite good tonight. Probably not as good as what— yes Mrs. Batey. Alright! I’m coming now,” he taps the worn sign of passenger charges as he leaps back onto the bus, his register bouncing off his chest.

Hermione shoves Draco away from her neck, “now listen here Malf—” she points her finger at his face.

He swats at her hand and covers her mouth with the other, “shhhhhhh," eyeing the flaring bus with a frenzied wide eye expression, “he, they, can’t know — someone may recognize me. My father can not— you can’t go about saying my name, yeah? I need a disguise. My hood may work. Lend me a hand wiff— fu—” he winces pulling his hand away.

“Don’t silence me like that!”

“You didn’t have to bite me you feral—”

“You ungrateful prat. You could’ve mentioned that before I summoned the bus you know. And not a single _please or thank you_ , since I carried you to the curb.”

“You didn’t seem to mind much a moment ago. I reckon—” his words trail off at seeing the slight sparking in her hair. Clearing his throat and adjusting his stance, placing a hand to lean against the bus the flaring light inside slowly extinguishing, “please,” the small word comes out. A slight bitter tang on his tongue. Whether from the word or the long after burn of too much firewhiskey, “assist me with my robe?” He pauses a beat a charming smile brightens his face, “and thank you.”

Rolling her eyes and letting out a long-suffering sigh, “here just— yes let’s just put your hood and —” helping him get an arm in. She smooths out his robe. Hand lingering on his shoulder before quickly and obviously pulling it back, clearing her throat.

Draco quirks a brow at her.

“There. And you’re trying to be discreet? Yes. So lets,” she startles him, when he’s met with the end of her wand between his eyes, wiping the developing smirk from his face, “malifius.”

“WHY YOU—”

“if ya haven’t change yer minds - that would be 1 galleon 7 sickles— and where is the young couple heading?” Shunpike ask returning a bit more frayed with a bit of ash on his uniform.

“Ipswich, Suffolk. And throw in —"

“We’re not toget—”

They answer at the same time, side eyeing one another, Shunpike looking on with suspicion.

Draco grits his teeth and speaks out the side, of his subtly changed, mouth, “I haven’t my coin purse.”

Gapping, she turns to look at him more fully, “why—you had not thought to tell me that either?! Let alone ask before throwing in all the,” waving a hand, “extras? Never mind then. Two cheap tickets please— one for,” looking over at Draco and back to the Stan, “one for Ipswich, Suffolk and one for Willifield Way, Hampstead Garden.”

“Two stops then, eh. Well, that comes too— 1 galleon 5 sickles: first on first off. Rather busy tonight believe you me. But should getcha where ya need to go in a jiffy.” Handing a ticket to Hermione and tilting his head towards Draco, “mate, what happened to ‘er boot?”

“An accident.”

They stood there a moment longer, Shunpike waiting curiously for Draco to elaborate.

Delaying the current bus schedule.

Another alert for pick up chiming. Some passenger yelling out a window, “this ain’t no jiffy.”

Hermione laughs uncomfortably holding out her handful of coins, “just a little accident. We are— he is just dandy though. Fine and dandy.”

“’Salright, then,” accepting the sickles and knuts still looking oddly at Draco, “get on aboard. As I said, been a busy night. There were a few beds available here on the first, but as you can see—” he points out the charred rows of bedding to Hermione. Having climbed up behind him, after a hand-slapping fight with Draco. Because she dare try to assist him up the bus steps. “There should be something free on the next level. Yer gonna be good getting up Mr.? Eh-what is yer name? You’ve got a name haven’t ya?”

“Yes, Granger! His name is Granger. Like me,” Hermione answers with a nervous breath before the silence lingers.

“Well, _Mr. Granger_ , needing any help up?”

“No,” passing the conductor and flustered Hermione, Draco limps, hops up, the triple-deckers stairs.

Hoping to find, though with more doubt than hope, a fairly clean place to sit.

His ankle and pride are rather suffering.

* * *

All the beds were full except for the last.

Its only passenger being a couple stacks of tomorrows Daily Prophet.

Not to be deterred, Draco casts the lot to the floor.

“Hey my papers! Whatchu do that for?” a voice calls from another bed.

Ignoring the question Draco plops down face first.

The bed dipping soon after, “get yer own bed, Granger. Am practically a married man.”

“Ugh so unsanitary. And as if I would even try to get a leg over otherwise!” shoving him, “Move over! All others are full, and you know it.” 

Shoving him again and falling into him with the start of the bus, he slings an arm over, pinning her to the bed, and reaches to close the drapery.

“Oh, that’s rich.” Slapping at his arm and scrambling away, Hermione scourgifys, the bedding and stuffs the pillow between them.

Reaching to open the curtains Draco prevents her with grabbing hands. “WHAT is your problem?!” she hits him with the pillow.

He lets go protecting his face, “I can’t”

twhack

“have”

thwack

“anyone”

thwack

“seeing me here!”

thwack

“Enough! You’re so violent.”

“Oh yes— “stuffing the pillow between them again and partly over his face, “because you’re practically a married man,” she says mockingly, “Then say as much. Grabbing at me like a snarfalump is hardly appropriate. Not that anyone can recognize you anyhow." And adding, "I’m only _violent_ when provoked.”

Scoffing as he pulls the pillow to his chest, “I’d like my face back now. I’ve already told you how attached I am to my nose.”

Huffing Hermione attempts to pull her hair out of her face into a chignon of some sort, “I hardly see why. And speaking of I did not sock your nose. I recall correctly, it was third year, and I slapped you. Which you deserved. You should get a punch though. You were incredibly rude to the conductor. Who, I’m sure, will move our stops last.”

Snorting and watching her through heavy lidded eyes. He notices that her hair is about twice the size it was when she first stumbled into the alleyway but, not quite as large as it would grow during potions. Or those old windy Saturdays in Scotland, when she was cheering the Gryffindorks. Could pick her out of stands with that hair. “Doubtful. He’ll probably want to make sure I’m interrupted. And I wouldn’t bother, it’s as hopeless as I remember.” 

Looking down at him, the top of his head almost pressed to her thigh, “I don’t appreciate the insinuation. And whats helpless? Trying to teach you manners?”

“Funny. No, I have had all the tutoring I could ever care for on _manners_. Your hair, however, is hopeless. Such a fright.”

“Like yours is any better right now?” brushing off some of his flopping strands away from her thigh, “did the manor finally run out of that ancient vat of gel?”

Their bed sways with a sudden stop, Stunpike calls out at a destination, as Hermione attempts to steady herself from falling over Draco. Her side breast millimeters from his face. Once she gained her seat again, Draco teases the fringe on his forehead brushing away that warm feeling and reminding himself, “‘Storia likes it like this.”

“Storia?” she asks in a pondering manner the bus rushing off again, “Astoria? As in- Greengrass?”

A sudden stop with a quick entrance of passengers and without a chime or destination call, causes Draco to go rigid. Slowing his breathing he tries to listen through Hermione’s yammering.

“Is that whom you meant by almost married? Or were you just joking about me giving you my last name? Which quite frankly am surprise you haven’t thrown a bigger fuss over. Are you and Astoria officially engaged? Is it a contracted match as most pureblood arrangements? Or have—"

The thin opening in the drapery flashes light and dark as two hulking figures enter the pathtway. Recognizing one of the two wizards, Draco slaps his hand over an offended Hermione Granger’s mouth. Her eyes wide. Whispering in her ear before she turns wild, “shhhh…shhh… don’t bite. I think- they’re here for me,” he leans forward to see one of the large wizards searching the beds. The other just flicking at some of the draperies.

“’As I’ve said before the Malfoy whelp ain’t taking no Knight bus. It’s a waste of-“

“Just do your as your told.”

The question of," what is going on," clearly written in her eyes. 

Shaking his head he motions for her to shush again, making her eyes crinkle in anger and frustration. 

He removes his hand, his eyes pleadingly with her, and motioning to the back wall of the knight bus.

The wizards are drawing closer. Only three beds left.

Looking behind them again Hermione whispers to him, “there’s no exit.”

Panicking Draco opens the back drapery and sees what Hermione means.

There are only windows. And its over for him.

Unless Hermione has changed his features enough that even Yaxley won’t recognize him.

“whats the idea?!” a voice from the bed before theirs calls out. “First the boy throws my newspapers about. Then he and his girl can’t keep quiet. Nows you got to ruin the little sleep I’ve been able to get.”

“How can you even—”

“Now you want to interrupt me while I make my complaints known,” he scolds the hulking wizard, “that just ain’t right, no. Not right at all.”

“Oy shut it—”

“Travers, relax. This… gentleman…” looking down his nose, “is just trying to get his rest. We beg your pardon. We’ll be on our way.”

“About time, that.”

Travers, the hulking wizard who rather not be there, toes his boots at the strewn newspapers.

Draco’s face splashed across, with a smirking smile and then frown, posed with his parents.

“Ay, Yaxley, this is the Malfoy boy innit?”

Draco still wide-eyed in panic narrows his eyes at Hermione, who is unbelievably covering her own mouth, trying to stifle her laughter, “think this is funny, do you? He whispers harshly. “I can’t be caught!” How, he wonders, she got away with all the schemes; She, Potter and Weasley, got up to at Hogwarts with giggling like this— he’ll never know.

Yaxley eyes the paper in irritation shoving past Travers and pulls back the drapery on the last bed.

Hermione finally having control of herself, shoves her hands into Draco’s hair and pushes him back onto the bed straddling him. Her frightful hair fanning around them; when the candle and lumos lit wand floods their space. Letting out a small breath of relief, she whips her head around, and as coyly she can muster, “do you mind? Can’t a girl have a little privacy?”

“Oh, beg your pardon,” an embarrassed Yaxley says; while still holding the curtain and wand out, trying to peek past her hair.

“Well, what do you mean, coming in here for? Isn’t there a free bed elsewhere?” she asks with an archness; Draco is coming to learn she has. 

Still. Straddling his lap. His hands laying stiffly beside him, palm side down.

“Sorry ‘bout that you two,” Stan Shunpike’s voice sounds from behind the two searching wizards. “thats our love birds, eh. Thought I’d mentioned, Mr. and erm Mrs. Granger, here.”

Travers peeks his head over his partners’ shoulder responding to Hermione, “we’re just looking. For the Malfoy heir that is. “

“Yes, well,” clearing his throat and grasping Hermione’s upper arms lifting her off his lap; as he sits up adjusting his robe closed, “look your head off but, don’t come barging in here. I should take a sock at you!” Draco interjects.

“Take it easy, young man. We mean no harm.”

“These are hit-wizards, Mr. _Granger_ ,” Stan volunteers.

“I don’t care if they’re from the Minister herself. They can’t come busting in here, interrogating my-my wife. Interrupting our privacy and not expect a fight.”

“Now, don’t get so violent, darling. They’re apparently just looking for that Malfoy prat.”

Watching Hermione from the corner of his eye, spying a slight twinkle in hers.

Clenching his jaw to keep from smiling, tongue pressing against his teeth, releasing it with a “tsk. Oh, is that so? Say, how many times have I told you to stop putting that bushy head in, where it doesn’t belong?”

Raising her chin, “too many to count. And you don’t have to lose your temper. I was only trying to help.”

“You don’t have to lose your temper.” Mimicking her all too well, “Only trying to help. I was trying to help. Like that one time when McLaggen had you under the mistletoe!”

“The Mistletoe?! You mean back in 6th form? By cursing him- with a pair of beaver teeth! And saying we were now a matched set. Oh, yes! I can see exactly how that helped me!” 

“I saw how you were trying to escape, I’d say that was –“

“Please! And you say I put my bushy head in things! I didn’t ask for your help. I had that handled-”

“Ah-ha, but you admit it was help!” Remembering their audience and not knowing how their argument turned almost real, “And what about the other night at the muggle pub? Did you have a handle on that, too? Or are you some floozy who pounces on unsuspecting men.”

“Oof- why, I never-“

“Now you see what yer done here?” scolds the conductor over Hermione’s and Draco’s arguing, “they were just making up, too”

“Apologies, Mr. Granger, was it? We’ll be on our way.” Giving Draco another look over, and wincing at Hermione’s exaggerated crying, before walking away.

“Might want to apologize to Mrs. Bately, too. Hers was the next stop and I know she’s none too happy. Come on now. You stay much longer going to have to get you a ticket. Or maybe not.“ he changes his tune at the last moment at the stern look from Yaxley.

“I want an apology too!” says the passenger from the previous bed. “I’ll never get back to sleep.”

“Our sincerest apologies, Fletcher,” Yaxley deadpans as he whisks his robe around and marches down the stairs, Travers, and Stan Shunpike in his wake. 

* * *

Pulling the drapes closed with a jolt, the bus setting off again amazed at the hold of the curtain rings and rod. She casts a silencing charm, “that got a little too real there.” Laughing “but, I bet you’re glad I didn’t return your- what was that? Your aristocratic nose?” she mimics his drawl with a chuckle. “Helps they were already doubtful that, _the Malfoy whelp would use anything as plebeian, as the Knight bus_.”

Rolling her neck, stretching her legs, and arms, as another chime goes off and another sudden stop. She tries again to twist her hair into a chignon, pulling her legs in to sit cross-legged, “I hate to admit it, but you’re right. My hair is so hopeless right now.” 

With another jarring start, she wonders how anyone can properly sleep with the constant stop and go. Although, Draco did have an eventful evening, most of which she was still attempting to put together. She ponders on the best way to get him to reveal the why. Turning her eyes to him, fully expecting to find a slumbering Malfoy, she is instead caught by his stare. Pining her with his eyes in the lowlight and leaning against a bed post; that blasted pillow as a cushion and an expression she can’t quiet place. “That would have been the perfect opportunity, you know, to give a false compliment. Or in your case a real insult.” She stares back at him, her smiling fading, and a blush creeping up her neck; till his unwavering stare feels all too intense. She looks away, dropping her hair and picking at a slight frayed thread on her trousers she remarks, “You’re awfully quiet.”

“Seems you’re doing just fine without me.”

Scoffing and rolling her eyes, “I really don’t know why I bother. Except. Well, you know, I have been... generous… and well—”

“Don’t worry Granger, I’m good for the galleons.”

“That’s so- so beside the point. I’m not interested in your money. I’m-”

“Then what are you interested in Granger?”

Grappling for words, her face flushing at his relentless gaze, “I- I. Oh, your ego is absolutely colossal!”

“Yeah, its not bad. And you’re all flustered when I only asked, what you were interested in,” a smirk now breaking across his face.

“I just want answers!”

“Then why are you blushing?” amusement in his tone.

“Wait, wait a minute, I’m not. Let’s get this straightened out.” Squirming in her spot, “um, if you’re under the impression- that I’m interested in you. In _that way,_ I mean that was all an act before. I was helping you out. I wasn’t trying to get a leg over. So forget it!” she says with my scorn then she had meant, “you’re just a headline to me.”

“A headline?” his face and eyes shuttering.

His smirk disappearing.

“I wasn’t aware you were a journalist, Granger. Haven’t seen a single by-line with your name attached.”

Another chime and sudden stop.

“Well, between you and me, that’s why I need you to answer some questions. I’ve got a, call it,

a journalistic feeling, that there’s a story here. And I’m here to help. I just want an exclusive.”

“You’ve got this nicely figured out for yourself. Isn’t that just too cute. There’s some scheming and opportunist plans in that brain of yours, practically Slytherin. If I hadn’t already guessed, you were wanting something.”

Swallowing hard, she raises her chin to speak, when Shunpike’s voice rings out, “Next stop— Willifield Way, Hampstead Garden”

“Bye, Granger. You’ve been entertaining… for a time.”

Getting up, the bus still in motion, and throwing open the draperies she turns back to him, “ you should get off here or I will stay on to your stop.”

“Or. To give a proper threat, Granger, there must be a consequence.”

“ _Or_ I will stun you and summon your father. How is that for a threat. My whole plan in a—” The bus stops suddenly, causing Hermione to fly back across the bed.

Draco retrieves and holds out her broken wand.

**TBC**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just Reiterating; partial and paraphrased quotes from the original movie has been used.  
> Especially the super witty ones.  
> I own nothing.
> 
> Thank y'all for reading <3 
> 
> If you haven't seen, It Happened One Night, I highly recommend it! 
> 
> Updates every other Saturday CST/CDT.  
> I think we have 3 more updates to fin.  
> Depends on much these two want to bicker.


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